Pan's Game
by PotterlockHobbiTardistuff
Summary: Trapped on an island... Enemies and companions alike. Their only chance of survival is working together. The question is, can they do it? Crossover between: Once Upon a Time, Supernatural, Doctor Who, and Sherlock. Rated T for some language, violence, and occasional adult humor.
1. Boffin and Bachelor

Disclaimer!

I do not own ANY of this! The characters all rightfully belong to the creators of Doctor Who, Sherlock, Supernatural, and Once Upon a Time. Please do not report!

Description

This was an idea that came to me one night while watching a SuperWhoLock video my sister showed to me. I had just finished Once Upon a Time and had seen Doctor Who, Sherlock, and Supernatural up to the current points when the idea struck me. What if I turned it into Once Upon a SuperWhoLock? So that's what I did. I will try to update this story once a week, mainly on the weekends but due to the fact that I've started high school now and have a lot more homework that may not happen.

You may recognize some of this as spin-offs what happened in the show, it's meant to be like that, you'll understand why in the end. Please feel free to leave comments or ask questions (no I will not tell you the ending so don't ask). I won't be upset if you insult my story in any way shape or form and I won't stop you from yelling at me either if you get frustrated (there will be points where that is highly possible). I just ask you to please not copy this and enjoy. Thank you!

Pan's Game

Once Upon a SuperWhoLock

Chapter One: Boffin and Bachelor

Sherlock Holmes was pacing again. His long pale fingers steepled under his chin, clear blue eyes fixed ahead, striding restlessly back and forth in the sitting room of his flat. Of course it wasn't just his flat; he shared it with his companion John Watson who was a retired army doctor and was currently sitting in his armchair, watching the detective think. They had just received word of a most mysterious case involving a rugby ball and a woman's wedding ring, John could tell his friend was concentrating hard and knew best not to disturb him.

Sherlock had stopped pacing now and stood with one hand out as though to shake the hand of an invisible stranger, but his eyes were still fixed on nothing. "The woman obviously wasn't happy about her marriage in the first place," he began to rattle off his ideas and John stayed silent, not understanding half of what was being said. He'd learned a long time ago to just listen and go with whatever the detective came up with, because most of the time (which was always in the case of Mr. Holmes) Sherlock was right. "-but the rugby ball, it wouldn't have just… Unless of course-"

John looked up when his friend stopped talking. Sherlock had the expression on his face of one who has just finally understood something after everyone else. His eyes were a little wide, his mouth perfectly round, eyebrows raised. "Oh!" He began to smile as he turned his bright gaze upon his faithful blogger. "Of course! She was very clever! It wasn't an accident!" Sherlock raced to the laptop and flicked open the screen, looking much like an excited child on Christmas morning.

"Sorry, what wasn't an accident?" John asked, getting out of his chair and joining Sherlock in interest.

"The ring John, she didn't lose it. She left it behind on purpose so as to leave us a clue of who murdered her. As for the ball, well there was clearly no child involved in this so it was left there as a diversion, to prevent anyone from seeing the things that really mattered." Sherlock was speaking as though anyone should have known this, as though it was something so simple a four year old could have figured it out. Then again he was a high functioning sociopath who never quite got the concept that not everyone in the world was or could be a born genius like he was.

"Alright, I see what you're saying," John replied quickly. He didn't want Sherlock to go off on one of his lectures about people not being smart enough to notice such simple details, because really they weren't so simple, only Holmes thought they were. "So what does that mean? Should we go to St. Bart's and do a DNA scan?"

Sherlock practically jumped out of his chair but the retired army doctor didn't react to it, he was already used to sudden movements from the detective. "Send Molly a text and let her know we're coming, if she's doing something else tell her to cancel. This is important." Sherlock called as he strode into the hall and pulled on his long overcoat. It was a black coat that stopped just below the knee, three silver buttons clasped it in place but Sherlock nearly always kept it open so his blazer beneath it were visible. To finish off the look he tied a navy and grey blue striped scarf around his neck, popping up his coat collar for good measure. "Come on John!" He shouted as he sprinted down the stairs.

John himself wore a buttoned up plaid shirt with jeans, simple but he liked it nonetheless. He quickly dashed after his friend, grabbing his own coat off the hook as he went. His coat was more of a simple jacket with a soft lining around the collar. He'd just barely run out the door, shouting to their landlady Mrs. Hudson that they'd be back later, when Sherlock got into a cab and pulled out his phone. The army doctor sprinted forward and leapt inside just before closing the door as the cabbie pulled out, swerving through the busy London traffic.

"Could you give me a moment's notice next time before running out like the devil's chasing you?" John asked, slightly annoyed. Sherlock, who had been looking something up on his phone, glanced at the man across from him with little interest, showing with his expression he hadn't been listening. John huffed indignantly, "Never mind."

...

The cab came to a stop just outside the entrance to St. Bartholomew's Hospital not ten minutes later, and Sherlock was already running up the stairs and into the building, leaving John to pay the highly amused cabbie. John turned and hurried after the detective, but it didn't make much difference. Sherlock was six feet tall and had very long legs which gave him an advantage for running; John on the other hand was only five foot six inches and didn't have such long legs himself. Most of the time Sherlock would be patient and wait for John to catch up, but when he was excited or in a hurry, Sherlock didn't slow down.

The detective was to be found in the labs, already with his coat and scarf off, seated at a microscope. John, who was panting slightly, walked over and slid out of his own coat, taking a seat next to his friend. "Anything yet?" He asked once he'd caught his breath. He knew Sherlock was a fast worker and would most likely already have figured at least ten things within two minutes.

"Mm," Sherlock replied unhelpfully. There were a few moments of silence before he decided to actually elaborate on anything he was seeing. "It's interesting, before Molly took the ring for a DNA scan I took a sample of what was on the ring, so as to find out more about this woman…"

"What's so interesting about that?" Inquired Watson. "Has she been doing something completely unheard of?" Sherlock raised his eyes from the microscope, staring ahead, thinking hard. John therefore continued, "What's she been doing?"

"What has she been doing indeed," Sherlock muttered in response. He narrowed his blue eyes, frowning so that a small crease appeared between his eyebrows. Then he did the one thing John would never have expected to hear coming from the famous detective. "John, are there any places in London you can think of that might use sulfur?"

John blinked and then half smiled in wonder, completely ignoring the question, "You serious?" Sherlock snapped out of it and turned his head to look at the doctor, frowning even more. "You… Sherlock Holmes, asking me for help? Are you feeling alright, or is the world coming to an end?"

"Oh shut up," Sherlock snapped and returned to his work. "The ring was coated with it, almost like there'd been a dust cloud of sulfur she walked through. Why though? Where did sulfur come into this?" His fingers steepled once again in front of his mouth, making him look as though he were praying with his eyes open, when really he was deep in what he liked to call his 'mind palace'.

John sighed and looked up when he heard the door to the lab swinging open as his dear friend Molly Hooper stepped inside. He smiled and she returned it somewhat shyly, "Hello Molly, having a good day?" The blogger asked politely. Molly was carrying a folder that contained several papers, but she nodded as she walked quickly over to join them, setting it down before Sherlock who instantly started going through it in a frantic manner. "Sherlock…" John stared at him, "Sherlock!"

"Come on, come on," Sherlock muttered, flipping through papers. Molly was standing next to him nervously, her hands ringing together as she watched him. "No, no, no, NO!" Sherlock yelled angrily, jumping out of his seat. "Oh they knew better, they were smarter than her!"

"Sherlock, what's going on?" John asked. He too had sprung to his feet as soon as Sherlock yelled.

"Fingerprints!"

John puckered his lips slightly, turning his eyes upwards as though asking for patience. Even though he knew Sherlock was a genius who moved quickly, sometimes John just got aggravated by the detective's knowledge and assumption that everyone always knew what he was talking about. "What about the fingerprints?" John asked slowly. Sherlock started pacing down the lab, running a hand through his already messy curls, disheveling them even more. "Sherlock," John sighed.

"There aren't any!" Holmes burst in frustration. "The murderer was smart enough to know not to leave evidence behind that would lead directly to them." He paused and suddenly his expression changed from one of vexation to one of slow delight. John had learned a long time ago that when Sherlock was making any sort of faces like this, he should be worried. "But we have the ring."

...

That was all Sherlock would say for the rest of the day, the ring, always the ring. John tried to ask what it was about the ring that had his friend so fixated with this crime, but when he only received silence he gave up for the time being. When it came time for the hospital to close the two returned home to their flat 221b Baker Street, only to be greeted by Mrs. Hudson. She strode down the hall towards them looking stern, "Sherlock, you really should give me a warning before you go disappearing like that! For the whole day too! You know it worries me!" She wasn't a stern woman, but she cared for the two boys almost like a mother might. Sherlock had helped her after all.

"Sorry Mrs. Hudson, can't stop now," Sherlock shouted, already on the top landing. Mrs. Hudson turned a frowning face to John who was looking up at the landing with his lips parted slightly. His gaze fell back upon her with an apologetic smile that he usually reserved just for the kind woman.

"Terribly sorry about that," he started. "Sherlock's gotten a new lead and doesn't want to give up. You know how he gets."

Mrs. Hudson's eyebrows rose and her eyes went a little wide as her mouth formed the perfect 'o' shape. "Oh sorry, am I interrupting a case?" She sounded worried as though she'd disturbed something of the utmost importance. Of course, to Sherlock the case was of the utmost importance, but to John it was just another case to help his determined friend solve at any costs.

John waved his hand, "It's alright! I can assure you everything will be back to… How it was before you know it." He'd almost said normal, but life in 221b most certainly wasn't normal. It never could be normal with a man like Sherlock Holmes in the house, constantly playing violin at three in the morning, shouting for Mrs. Hudson, storing random body parts in the fridge and microwave, or even shooting the wall when he got too bored.

John smiled at Mrs. Hudson once more before dashing up the stairs after his friend. He hung up his coat in the hall and when he entered the flat it was to see Sherlock standing behind the laptop, typing away madly like his life depended upon it. John sank into his chair and waited quietly until Sherlock finished typing with a small flourish as he tapped the enter key. The detectives' clear blue gaze locked on his smaller companion, looking triumphant and sparkling in the firelight.

"So you going to tell me what that was about?" John asked. Sherlock settled himself in his own chair, steepling his fingers for the umpteenth time that day. John sighed again, he felt as though he'd been doing that a lot lately but right then it didn't matter. "I take that as a no." He was, however, taken by surprise when Sherlock began to speak.

"There were no fingerprints on the ring; I mean how could there be when she was the only one who ever touched it?" He started quickly. "But it was coated in sulfur, so I could only assume she was by some sort of manufacturing plant at the time, which however is not accurate, as we found it in an alley between a post office and a bakery."

"So what are you saying that the murderer just happened to have sulfur all over him that got on the ring during the struggle?" John asked, thoroughly confused and not understanding where his friend was going with this in the slightest.

"There was no struggle," Sherlock replied instantly. "No signs in the alley at all that would indicate a fight! Almost as if she went willingly with her murderer, but why would she do that? No one in their right mind would go somewhere with a person who had clear intentions of murdering them."

"Maybe she was scared," John suggested.

"Scared? Why would she be scared?" Sherlock scoffed. One thing Sherlock did not understand was fear, he'd always been able to trust his senses and they'd never given up on him yet. Upon seeing his friend's face, however, Sherlock looked a little confused, "Not good?" He asked.

John shook his head, "No…" The two had moments like this now and then, where Sherlock would say something that was only a different experience for him as though it were a silly matter. John would always after indicate somehow that Sherlock had gone wrong and that what he'd said wasn't the correct tone or response to the current situation. Sherlock tried to understand, he really did, but he just didn't get it.

Holmes cleared his throat after a moment, "So she goes with her captor, but leaves her ring behind as a clue. The only useful thing we gain from it is the sulfur that might help us solve this, but other than that it's all rubbish."

"I wouldn't say that," John replied uncertainly. "There might be some fond memories with that ring."

Sherlock rolled his eyes with slightly pursed lips, "Please… You only have to look at the fact that the ring has never been polished to know she's unhappily married. The only polishing it gets is when she takes it off her finger which either indicates she had a string of lovers or that she took it off whenever and wherever possible."

John put his hands up in surrender, "Alright, alright! I get it, no need to go off on one of your rants." A knock sounded from below and the two fell silent as they listened to Mrs. Hudson open the door and welcome in whomever it was. That became apparent when none other than Detective Inspector (D.I.) Greg Lestrade came running up the stairs and into the room, slightly out of breath.

"I think we've got a lead!" He strode across the room and thrust a phone at Sherlock, who accepted it without question. Lestrade stepped back a few paces as the detective rose to his feet.

"Hello?" Sherlock asked calmly, as though phone-calls from the unknown were an everyday thing for him. "Yes it is… Who?... Mm, no…" Lestrade and John watched curiously as Sherlock replied in a bored tone. "It better be good and not waste my time." There was a long pause before Sherlock frowned and spun around so fast the other two were startled. "What?" He shook his head, "You're insane, they don't exist." With that, he hung up the phone and handed it over to Lestrade.

"Well?" Lestrade asked, "What did they say?"

Sherlock huffed and sat back down in his chair, "Absolute nonsense. They were trying to convince me that demons exist and that one was possessing the murderer. Which is why there was sulfur, because apparently demons leave a trace of it behind when they kill or kidnap someone."

There was a small pause before Lestrade spoke, "It's a possibility." He'd barely gotten all the words out before Sherlock was speaking again.

"Demonic possession? Really Grayson, you're losing your touch."

"It's Greg," Lestrade snapped, clearly annoyed. Out of all the things Sherlock could never get right, it was Lestrade's first name. Sherlock looked at him with raised eyebrows, "My name is Greg." Sherlock looked about ready to argue and say something along the lines of 'what a stupid name' but John intervened before he could.

"Sherlock don't you think we should consider all the possibilities? Even if they seem ridiculous."

Sherlock sighed, "Now you're in this too?" He stood up and started pacing again. "Be realistic John, demons don't exist and if they did I think I would know that by now. The only thing out there is fact and science, if you can't prove to me it's real then it's not. People are so narrow minded, what is it like not being me? It must be so boring."

John and Lestrade shared a look that said, 'Here he goes again.' It was typical for Sherlock to start insulting everyone he could whenever there came a chance. The problem was that Sherlock had never had a real childhood, growing up with a brother like Mycroft Holmes (who was practically the British government itself) wasn't an easy thing. Sherlock had never believed in fairytales and had never had the time to imagine things and believe in the magic of the world. In his mind, magic didn't exist, and he was content to keep it that way as long as he had his scientific fact.

"I'm not going to start believing the word of someone who is clearly mad when they think demons are real," Sherlock finished off his rant. "Now, back to the facts and reality if you please."

...

It took Sherlock three days to officially get a location of where the sulfur had come from, and as soon as he did he and John were out the door. John had once more been in charge of yelling a hurried goodbye to Mrs. Hudson as they sprinted out the door and into the street. Sherlock was impatient the whole ride there, it had never taken him so long to figure out something so simple like this and it irritated him.

It just so happened that on that day, Sherlock would receive very good luck, and very bad luck all within the span of two hours. Had he have not been so close-minded and believed the men on the phone, he would have been better prepared for what was ahead and so, wouldn't have had all the unfortunate accidents to follow. See on the good luck side of things, the murderer just so happened to be at the place Sherlock located sulfur, but that was sheer accidental luck.

The two companions raced inside the warehouse, John had his gun ready just in case it would be needed. They walked from room to room until they could hear a voice coming from directly ahead, Sherlock glanced at John who nodded and the two of them burst through the doors. A single man stood in the center of the room with his hands in his pockets as though nothing was going on whatsoever. His black coat swept down to his knees and he wore a crisp suit beneath it, giving the presence of someone of importance yet neither man had seen him before. His eyes were dark brown, as was his hair which was short cut.

John raised his gun whereas Sherlock kept his lowered but ready for a moment's notice, "Hello boys." The man opposite spoke. His voice was deep and smooth, holding a trace of amusement as he looked upon the other two. "Those won't work against me." He nodded at the guns, John's grip tightened and Sherlock mentally sighed, of course…

"Bullet proof vest," he muttered almost a question, but it carried across the room. The man chuckled slightly and shook his head, thinking something was funny about the situation that wasn't funny in the least. "What?" Sherlock snapped.

"Wrong answer Mr. Holmes," the man stated. "But I'll give you credit for trying. Oh sorry, haven't introduced myself. Crowley, pleasure to meet you."

"Unfortunately I can't say the same about you," Sherlock replied. "If you don't have a bulletproof vest, which I can see now as your coat has shifted, why shouldn't a gun work against you? You may think you're invincible but believe me; these things can do a lot of damage. Maybe you didn't know that and you must certainly didn't know that I myself have been shot once, I know how it works."

"That may be so Mr. Holmes," Crowley replied. "But unless you have a devil's trap carved into the bullet, it's not going to do much good." Sherlock narrowed his icy eyes at the man, wondering where this could possibly be going. "You're a clever lad… Those boys on the phone, what did they tell you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at this, "Utter nonsense. I have several theories as to who they were; quite possibly they were working for you. Trying to distract me from the bigger picture of the murder."

"Oh but I didn't murder anyone," Crowley stated with a smirk. "See I know what those boys told you… I wasn't killing anyone; I was simply collecting her dues."

"Dues? What dues?" John asked sharply.

Crowley turned his eyes upon the other, "John Watson… You're smaller than I thought you'd be." John felt his face heat up; it wasn't very courteous of the man to be making a jibe at his height when Crowley himself seemed only to be two inches taller. "By dues I mean her soul. Make a deal, it last ten years. The ten years are up; I come and take what's been promised to me, the person's soul."

"You murdered an innocent woman," Sherlock cut in, he'd had enough. He didn't think he could stand to hear anymore rubbish, he preferred being alone, it made for less idiots in the room. Not that John was an idiot, just a bit dull and he never could keep up with the detective on cases.

"Haven't you been listening?" Crowley asked. "You should have believed those men on the phone."

Sherlock scoffed, "Oh so now you expect me to believe you're a demon?"

Crowley sighed impatiently, he blinked and John yelled in shock where Sherlock could only freeze. The man's eyes had gone from brown to a blood red in an instant, no pupils or whites, just red. Then he blinked again and it was gone. "King of Hell to be precise."

...

Sherlock couldn't explain what had happened next very clearly; it seemed to be all a haze to him. He remembered John's gun being fired, bringing a deafening bang to echo throughout the warehouse. Then he felt his gun fly from his grasp as though by magnetic force along with John's before he blinked and was suddenly standing back home at 221b. He looked around to see John standing nearby, looking just as shocked as he felt.

"It was a trick of the light," Sherlock said reassuringly. He didn't know who he was trying to reassure, himself or John, or both. He felt shaky, his senses had only betrayed him like this once and then he'd been intoxicated with a drug that made him hallucinate. "Just the light," he repeated.

"Sherlock…" John shook his head, "Jesus Christ, Sherlock… His eyes! You can't say you imagined that because I saw it too! And then my gun, how do you explain that? It came right out of my hand to him, and now we're back here like nothing happened!" John's voice was rising steadily as it always did when he panicked.

"Sorry about that." John jumped and Sherlock spun around so fast he nearly fell over. Crowley was standing across from them with his hands still in his pockets; smiling but it had no warmth. "Thought you'd want a more welcoming setting before I send you off."

"Send us off where?" John asked in a bit of a croaky voice. He was liking this Crowley less and less by the minute, the man frankly creeped him out. If he was to be believed and he was in fact a demon and the King of Hell no less, then John had a good reason to be frightened of him.

"Now that wouldn't be any fun if I told you would it?" Crowley questioned. "I think I'll rather enjoy sending you off without giving you the faintest idea of where you're going, who you'll meet, or what you'll need. Think of it as a test, if you survive well good for you. If you don't, I'll see you in Hell."

"But… You can't just send us somewhere without any way to defend ourselves!" John burst desperately. He was trying to buy them more time and Sherlock understood that, but Sherlock was not John and he was actually curious to know where Crowley was planning on sending them.

"I see your point… Alright, I like a fair fight just as much as you Mr. Watson," Crowley replied after a moment. Then he produced their guns from his pockets and tossed them back to the rightful owners, "They're both just the way they were a few minutes ago. Same amount of bullets too, no more and no less. Satisfied?"

John gulped as he held onto the weapon like his life depended upon it, which it sort of did given the current situation. "So you're sending us away," Sherlock finally started speaking. "For how long? Won't they notice when we don't show up for about a week?"

Crowley laughed, "Where you're going that doesn't matter. All that matters is you learn how to survive. As for how long you'll be there… Well that's a rather difficult question; you see I won't be there myself. I'll be in this world. So to me no time will have past at all but to you it could have been a hundred years."

"That's not possible," Sherlock started.

"Oh boo hoo Mr. Holmes," Crowley cut across. "It's time you start learning to believe in the impossible things, that's the only way you'll even make it through a day there. So!" He clapped his hands, "Ready to go? Good." Without waiting for an answer or giving them a moment to think anything through, Crowley walked forward and touched both their arms. Sherlock felt suddenly cold and everything went black, like he'd been plunged into the ocean but was able to breath.

'_It's a dream,'_ he thought. _'You fell asleep and are just having a very vivid and strange dream.'_ But it wasn't so. For a moment later he felt warm, actually quite hot as tropical weather encased him, but that wasn't right for London… He heard sounds all around, bugs chirping in the night and an occasional hoot or call from birds he'd never heard before. Sherlock's eyes snapped open to see a dark canopy or green above him and patches where the sky could be seen.

He could tell he was in some kind of jungle, but where the hell could that be? Sherlock slowly sat up and took a better look at his surroundings, it was clearly night but he still didn't have a clue as to where he was and he hated not knowing. He tried to think of all the possible places, but none of them seemed to quite match this place. He got to his feet, trying to think what made this one different. It had a different air to it, almost as though the jungle was alive with…

'_No,'_ he thought sharply_. 'Don't be stupid.'_

To his left John stirred and woke up with a groan, clutching his head and opening his eyes. He suddenly went silent before shooting off the ground, looking around wildly, "Sherlock! What… Where are… What happened?!" He spluttered.

"I…" Sherlock was already starting to hate this place. He felt like some unknown presence was watching them, but he also felt unhelpfully unsure of not only his whereabouts, but himself. "John believe me when I say this… For the first time, I don't know." John stared at his friend with slightly wide eyes, his mouth agape.

"You don't…" He laughed nervously, "Oh no, no you're Sherlock Holmes! You know everything; you've solved away every factor under the sun!"

Sherlock frowned, "Oh and you think I just magically know where we are?" There it was… That word. Sherlock hoped to never have to say it again or anything remotely close to it. John however didn't seem to notice, he was more focused on the fact that Sherlock had no idea as to where they were.

"Great… Just bloody brilliant," he was muttering quietly. "We just found out that demons are real, effing demons Sherlock! Now we're stuck somewhere that we have no idea where it is, and we have no idea what or who might be here! How is that-"

"Shut up," Sherlock interrupted suddenly, holding up a hand.

"No Sherlock I will not s-"

"No really John! Shut up!" Sherlock snapped. That got John to be quiet and listen with the detective. Someone or something was to be heard walking through the thick plants not far off from Sherlock's right side. John drew closer to the tall man; feeling a little nervous and even a tab scared which was unusual for him, being from the army and all. Then they could make out a voice, not bothering to keep the noise level down as the person talked, definitely it was a man speaking.

"We have to find the TARDIS! She's got to be here somewhere!" The voice stated firmly. Neither Sherlock nor John had any idea what a tar diss was, and they didn't particularly want to find out. A few moments later a man in the strangest attire Sherlock had ever seen ('God forbid people actually wear that,' he thought) appeared. He was tall and lanky, wearing black pants, combat boots, a white shirt with a brown jacket, red suspenders, a golden watch, and a bright red bow-tie. His hair was slightly swept to the side and his eyes were green with flecks of brown, but they looked much older than he.

Sherlock and John stared at the man and his companion. She was likewise tall with long red hair and kind brown eyes, but she didn't seem to have the same aura of being older than she looked. The man stopped speaking and came to a halt upon seeing the other two, his hands were half raised as his fingers rubbed together almost in a nervous manner, but he was smiling. "Ah hello!" He half shouted. "I'm the Doctor!"


	2. The Madman With a Box

Chapter Two: The Madman With a Box

The Doctor was running. He had been for the past five minutes. Well, not entirely five minutes straight, but nearly so. He could hear explosions going off behind him, could see orange and yellow glows open the walls and dust filling the air before his eyes as the yells of his enemies rang after him. "Exterminate! EXTERMINATE!" Flashes of blue lit the corridor but the Doctor kept running, not daring to look back or pause for even a moment. One second's hesitation and he'd be dead faster than you could blink.

As he charged off down the corridors, making sharp turns here and there, the Doctor could only think of one thing; getting back to the TARDIS before either his enemy caught up or the whole ship was blasted to pieces. To be precise what was chasing him was called a Dalek and it was one of the most dangerous and cruel creatures in the whole universe. There had been a time war between the Daleks and the Time Lords in which the Doctor was the only survivor and yet still there were Daleks across the galaxy, chasing him down everywhere he went. The ship he was on was in fact filled with them.

"Doctor!" Someone shouted ahead. The familiar Scottish accent made his spirits lift and his hearts skip a beat. It is hearts plural because being a Time Lord meant the Doctor was unusual in many ways, including the fact that he had two hearts. Whenever he heard his companions calling to him or saw them close by he couldn't help but smile, it meant they were okay and that was all that mattered.

The smoke thinned a tiny bit and he was able to see the outline of a girl and the glowing windows of his time and space ship. The TARDIS. It stood for Time and Relative Dimension in Space, but no one ever said that because it was too long a title. Every companion he had taken along on adventures had made one obvious comments as soon as they entered the TARDIS. It was the simple fact that the TARDIS was indeed, bigger on the inside.

He continued to run at the girl and once he'd reached her he pulled her inside the TARDIS just as a loud cry of "Exterminate!" echoed down towards them. The Doctor ran up the stairs and nearly slammed into the controls as he slid across the glass floor. His hands flew all over the place, pushing buttons, spinning dials, hitting a bell, and even typing on a keyboard. The TARDIS began to make a funny noise much like the wheezing sound someone makes when they can't breathe.

Explosions could still be heard outside but the Doctor was smiling as he ran around the controls like a hyper child. He always acted that way, childish and playful, but when he looked sad when he thought no one was looking. He had seen so much beauty but also so much evil and destruction, when he'd had to destroy his home Gallifrey to stop the Daleks, the Doctor was never the same. Something inside him had been torn away, ripped out of him and tossed aside to be forgotten.

It was happiness. He always had a companion with him because in truth the Doctor could never bear to be alone, he'd been alone for far too long and wanted to change that. His companions never stayed long though due to the fact that they kept having unfortunate events happen to them which made them incapable of staying.

Now however he was laughing as he turned his eyes upon the red-headed lass across from him. "Amelia Pond!" She smiled but he didn't say anything else, as though he was too happy to even finish the thought. "Amelia, Amelia Pond…" He kept grinning.

The Scottish girl skipped over to him, "So! Where next?" The Doctor loved hearing that question; he loved it when his companions always wanted to go somewhere new and exciting. He didn't answer for a moment, gazing at the screen above him and thinking deeply. Where should they go?

"How about someplace cool?" he asked brightly. He used the word cool a lot mostly to describe things such as his bow ties or his bright red fez he wore. The fez however was currently laying on the bench behind the controls as the Doctor didn't wear it on all days. Amy looked as though she wasn't sure whether to laugh or roll her eyes in exasperation in response to the Doctor. So instead she settled for gesturing to let him know she was eager to go anywhere.

The Doctor pulled down a final lever to set the TARDIS's final destination and she went hurtling through the time vortex. From the outside it would have looked as though the TARDIS was spinning in an endless tunnel of thunder clouds, narrowly avoiding getting struck by what appeared to be lightning here and there.

The TARDIS suddenly gave an almighty lurch, sending both Time Lord and companion stumbling into the controls. Amy's wide eyes stared at her raggedy man in a trace of panic, "Doctor? Is it supposed to do that?" The Doctor gazed at the screen above his head with a slow grin forming as he saw what was displayed before his eyes. The screen was going fuzzy now and then, blinking rapidly and then spluttering out completely.

"Doctor?" Amy repeated, "What's happening? Where are we going?"

"Oh this is brilliant!" The Doctor stated brightly. His eyes turned to the red-headed girl beside him, "I have no idea!" She gave him an exasperated expression but it didn't last long as the TARDIS gave another jerk. The Doctor held onto the controls tightly, looked up, and yelled at the top of his voice, "GERONIMOOOOOOO!" The controls began to spark and steam poured forth along with smoke and the smell of burning wires.

The Doctor let out a peal of laughter as the thrill of adventure surged within his veins, even if his companion seemed terrified he couldn't help being excited. Most would say he acted like a hyper child on Christmas morning, if you can imagine that in the form of a grown man wearing a red bow-tie then you have the Doctor. Then, quite suddenly, the TARDIS came to a crashing halt, leaving a ringing silence inside the blue box.

The two slowly stood and looked at each other before the Doctor took off, running down the steps to the door and wrenching them open, stepped into the new location. His eyes took in the sight of a jungle and the many sounds reached his ears before he closed the doors and ran back up to the controls, pulling the screen around to him. Amy edged closer, "So… Where are we?"

The screen held a picture of the surrounding location, there was nothing to be seen but for the vast, dark, jungle with its thick plants and rare patches of sky here and there. "Someplace new…" The Doctor replied quietly.

Amy sighed, "Okay, mind explaining?"

He continued as though she hadn't spoken at all, "We were ripped from the Time Vortex which can only mean one thing… Someone wants us here; nothing else could have pulled the TARDIS from time travel." His smile came back into play and he ran back to the doors, this time stepping out and staying out. "Come along Pond!" He called, "We're going exploring!"

Amy appeared seconds later looking as though she still wanted a better explanation but the Doctor didn't comply with her questioning stare. He simply set off at a brisk pace with her trotting along after him. "I wonder where we are," he voiced his thoughts aloud. "Maybe we're on a planet full of invisible people!"

"Invisible people?" Amy asked, "Is that even a thing?" When he nodded she made a surprised face, "Well that's odd."

The Doctor turned to face her smiling broadly, "I know! I've met them once, the Invisible People. Lovely thinkers, but don't drink anything they offer you. They aren't too good at making things since they can't see their hands." He'd stopped walking and Amy was staring at him with raised eyebrows and her arms were crossed over her chest. The Doctor was still smiling, "I'm getting off topic aren't I?"

"Yeah."

"Okay… Good… Let's go." He began walking once more, leading his friend deeper and deeper into the unknown jungle. Each step he took his anticipation grew, where were they? What else could be in the very same jungle they were walking through? It occurred suddenly to the Doctor that if someone pulled them from the Time Vortex perhaps it wasn't the best idea to be roaming through a seemingly endless jungle he'd never seen.

He turned back around and began heading in the direction they'd come from, much to Amy's confusion. "We're going back to the TARDIS." But after what seemed hours of walking they still hadn't reached the blue box. "We've have to find the TARDIS!" The Doctor stated for the hundredth time. "She's got to be around here somewhere!" Amy was about to point out they'd been searching for hours and it seemed pointless to continue when they walked straight into a clearing that held two people already.

"Ah hello! I'm the Doctor!" he said happily. The two men stared at him in disbelief; one was tall with dark hair while the other was just the opposite, short and sandy blonde. When no one spoke he continued, gesturing to his companion, "This is Amelia Pond, or Amy as she prefers to be called."

Amy gave a short and slightly awkward wave, "Hello." The taller man seemed to recover himself a bit because he began to speak.

"I am Sherlock Holmes. This is my friend, John Watson." John nodded his head, still apparently incapable of speech in the presence of the newcomers. The uncomfortable silence stretched between the four until Sherlock decided to go on, "We couldn't help hearing you were looking for something called a TARDIS?"

The Doctor's face lit up, "Yes! You haven't seen it have you? Big blue box, says police on it?" The two men shook their heads but the Doctor didn't seem to find this news at all discouraging. On the contrary, he continued to smile and flap his hands about as he spoke. "It's an adventure then! Oh I do love them, especially because of the feeling you get. All tingly and jumpy."

Sherlock was beginning to like this man less and less, not just because of his absurd dress wear but also because of the way he was so annoyingly energetic and hyper active. People like that were too much for Sherlock, what was worse was he couldn't make any deductions about the man because for some reason unknown he seemed to have a very complex and unreadable character. The sooner Sherlock got away from him the better. However, he decided to go along with the friendly act since it could possibly gain him valuable information.

"You said you were a Doctor?" John asked uncertainly and the man opposite smiled with a nod. "Pardon me, a doctor of what may I ask?"

"Nope! That's it. Just the Doctor. Nothing else." He seemed even happier at this statement, as though not having a name was something to be very proud of. John looked extremely confused by this but masked it quickly, not before Sherlock saw though. Before John could even shoot a warning look at his friend Sherlock had snapped into his normal realistic self and said,

"But that's not possible. You obviously have a name." He declared. Amy frowned and spoke up before the Doctor could answer for himself.

"Well of course he has a name. Just no one knows it!" She continued to frown at the detective with a feeling of unease and dislike, "Are you always so judgmental?" Now it was Sherlock's turn to frown. John could feel an argument coming on and wanted to avoid it so he intervened before things could go downhill.

"Sorry, do either of you know where we are? It's just that we don't and were hoping you could tell us." Sherlock turned his head to stare at his blogger, knowing exactly what John had done but choosing not to comment on it. The Doctor laughed and pointed at him as though he'd said a funny joke.

"So you don't know as well? Well! Then I guess we're all on the same page. Until we find out, we've got a TARDIS to be finding! Then we can get out of here." He smiled brightly again and started to head off into the jungle but Sherlock stopped him.

"Wait just a moment." His eyes scanned over the jungle, it held a sense of foreboding to it, and even though he didn't approve of the two he still felt they shouldn't travel in small groups. "I think…" He said slowly, "We should all stick together. If none of us know where we are or what's out there it would be most unwise to move about in a smaller group. It makes it so much easier for any enemies to catch us."

"Good point…" The Doctor answered quietly, dropping all manner of being happy. Then it suddenly came back again and he grinned, "Come on then! Let's go find the TARDIS!"


	3. The Curse of Pie

**Terribly sorry about the long wait! I was extremely busy this past week (two I think) and haven't had a time to update! I hope this chapter makes up for it… I plan on having the next one up by tomorrow if I can. Thank you so much for your patience! Enjoy!**

Chapter Three: The Curse of Pie

Dean Winchester was sitting at a table in a motel room waiting for his brother Sam to get back. He was finally going to do it. He was finally going to eat his pie. Indeed there was a box on the smooth surface before him labeled 'apple pie' and Dean grinned as he picked up the plastic fork next to the box and jabbed it into the pie. The motel room was small with a very poor choice in colour scheme and tacky furniture with decorations were placed here and there. Sam had gotten a real shock to open the bathroom door only to see a fat Buddha smiling at him from the sink the other day.

The lock of the door opened and none other than Sam Winchester himself stepped into the room, holding a bag in one hand and keys in the other. Dean looked up, still grinning as his younger brother shut the door with a small snap. "Dude! Pie!" He exclaimed excitedly. Sam didn't smile as he tossed the bag onto the table. Dean took one look at the contents and lost his appetite completely due to the horrendous smell and sight combined. "Is that…?" Sam sat down on one of the beds and nodded.

"Yup." He slowly looked over at his brother, "Human ears. I'd say we're dealing with a couple of witches." Dean pulled a face and pushed his pie away from him, no longer hungry even though it was his favourite food.

"That's disgusting…." His gaze turned back upon the other, "Did you say a couple of witches? Didn't we have enough trouble with the last witch couple?" The two sat in silence for a moment, remembering all too well their last encounter with two magic users who had been married.

"Well from the looks of things I'd actually say we're dealing with about six? Maybe Seven?" Sam replied wearily.

"Why seven?" Dean asked, "Couldn't you just leave it at six?" Sam huffed and shook his head slightly, knowing that Dean probably didn't understand (even though he was older) but he said what was on his mind anyway just so the older Winchester would know from then on what he meant.

"Dean, everyone knows seven is the magic number." As he had predicted, Dean looked completely lost at this statement. "Harry Potter? You know what, never mind." Dean still looked confused as he answered.

"Weren't those the uh… movies about a wiz kid or something?"

Sam rolled his eyes, "No Dean… They were books about a wizard. I can't believe you even remember the movie, you only saw the first one. Of course that's probably because I said you weren't allowed to watch them until you read the books because let's face it… The books are so much better than the movies ever will be." He stopped speaking upon seeing the look Dean was giving him and cleared his throat. "Anyway… It was just kind of ironic that we're dealing with witches and you know… Harry Potter is about a wizard."

"Yeah okay, well when you're done ranting about some voodoo hocus pocus, maybe we could get back to the real stuff?" Dean asked. He picked up the remote to the television and turned it on, instantly wishing he hadn't. The news flashed onto the screen only it wasn't just showing the disappearances that had been happening in America, they were showing vanishings of exactly the same type happening in Britain.

"Wait…" Sam sat up straighter, "This is happening in England as well?"

"Apparently…" The two watched in silence as the news reporter spoke about what was going on. That is until something caught Dean's eye and he stood up, moving up to the television, "Wait a second… Is that… Crowley?" Sam too got a closer look before both glanced at each other with dark expressions. Their absolutely least favourite person (demon) in the world was standing just in the view of the camera for the nation to see him.

"Why is he in England?" Sam asked slowly. The two exchanged looked once more, worried this time as they thought of all the horrible possibilities behind why Crowley was so far from home. The brothers lapsed into silence again, listening closely to what the news reporter said until she finished speaking and handed it back over to the regular broadcasters.

"And now we turn back to the peculiar kidnap of a child, Henry Mills while he was visiting the U.K. Our reporters are with the famous detective who found the boy and returned him safely to his mother. Take it away Bill!" The screen changed yet again to show a reporter standing beside a tall, thin man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. His skin was pale and his cheekbones concentrated sharply against the dark coat he wore with the collar popped up. The reporter looked slightly nervous.

"Thanks Mike! I'm standing here today with the famous Sherlock Holmes; outside his home 221b Baker Street, London." Dean snorted and turned off the television, tossing the remote aside but Sam snatched it back up instantly and flicked the screen back on. The reporter had finished speaking; now it was the taller man.

"-glad to take on a case." He was finishing in a smooth, deep, British accent. Crowley's figure had vanished from the screen but Sam was certain wherever the demon was, nothing good could be coming from it. Is guess turned out to be accurate (as he and Dean discovered later) because Crowley was at that moment, pulling Sherlock Holmes into the most mysterious case involving demons.

"Do you think we should at least call and let him know?" Sam asked uncertainly. "It's not like we can get to England easily and by the time we did it would be too late for us to do anything. But since we know this Holmes guy is there and he can take care of it… He should know how to deal with what he's up against."

"Sammy, you saw that guy on the T.V." Dean replied impatiently. They had been having the same argument on and off for the past day. Sam wanted to call this detective, Sherlock Holmes, while Dean had reasons not to call. "Does he really look like the kind of guy to believe in demons?"

"Well do most people believe in demons?" Sam answered quickly. "I mean, they don't know they're real do they? Not until they've been possessed, someone they know's been possessed, or they get killed by a demon; in which case it wouldn't do much good for them. The least we can do is give the detective a warning. Unless of course you want to make a beeline for the airport and fly out there…"

Sam knew he'd hit a point with this statement. Dean was absolutely terrified of planes, just as Sam was deathly afraid of clowns; because as we all know, planes crash and clowns kill. Dean put up a hand, "Okay! We'll call this… this detective and see what he can make of Crowley. Ten bucks says he won't believe us though." But Sam was already pulling out his phone and dialing the number they'd seen on their motel television set. The two brothers leaned in together; the phone on speaker was ringing into the silence.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade speaking," a voice sounded on the other end. "How may I be of your service?" The voice sounded a bit tired and almost a little sarcastic when it had sounded.

"This is Sam and Dean Winchester," Sam spoke in a clear voice. "We think we know who's behind the murders happening where you are…"

Ten minutes later the brothers could hear muffled voices on the opposite end of the line, speaking quickly before a new, more familiar voice, sounded out of the tiny speaker. "Hello?" It was the deep voice of Mr. Holmes, the same man they had seen on the television. Sam glanced at Dean, who nodded for him to speak.

"This is Sherlock Holmes right?" The man on the other end didn't seem taken aback in the slightest by the fact that he was speaking with two Americans, nor the fact that they had a very different way of speaking on the phone than British people did.

"Yes it is…"

Sam gave a small huff, "Good… We're Sam and Dean Winchester." He paused for a moment until the man spoke.

"Who?"

"We uh… Solve problems in America." Sam tried to explain. Dean rolled his eyes and pulled the phone away from his brother.

"I take it you haven't heard of us?" Dean asked impatiently, keen to get to the point and have this whole thing over with.

"Mm, no…" The voice replied in an almost bored manner. Dean was beginning to get annoyed by this, he could tell just by the way Mr. Holmes talked, that he was neither a pleasant nor friendly man. Losing his patience completely, Dean decided to get straight to the point; no beating around the bush.

"We know-" he stopped at the sharp look Sam gave him. "We think," Dean corrected, shooting a glare at his younger brother. "We know who's behind the… murders going on way over yonder."

"It better be good and not waste my time," Holmes snapped. Already the two were not getting along and they hadn't even met yet. Dean hoped they never did meet, but he was never one to be known for good luck or fortune. In the Winchester family, good luck and good fortune don't exist.

"Demons." Dean stated abruptly. There was a small pause before Sam elaborated on the topic, thinking about how stupid Dean was the whole time. The plan had been to keep things discreet, not be blatantly obvious and not necessarily telling the whole truth. Dean had just blown that plan away, leaving Sam stranded to explain about demons, Crowley, and what they thought was going on. There was yet another pause when he'd finished, but they knew the detective was still there on the other end. Until…

"What? You're insane. They don't exist." The phone gave a dull beeping noise three times, signaling the call had been ended without further conversation. Sam sighed and dropped the phone onto the bed.

"Well that went well," Dean commented.

A couple of days passed by easily for the Winchesters. They solved the problem with the witches, got rid of two ghosts, and even managed to take out a murderous ghoul they'd found lurking in a bank. The real problem came with the arrival of their friend Castiel, who brought a half warning with his appearance. The angel had a tendency to pop out of nowhere, usually scaring Dean more than anything. Today was one of those days.

"Dean." Dean jumped violently and whipped around. Sam was out investigating a strange number of deaths and Dean had gotten back early from his interview of the police. The deep gruff voice startled him and as he turned his eyes landed upon a slightly shorter man with ruffled up brown hair and bright blue eyes who was staring intently at him.

"Jesus Christ, Cas… Could you give me a bit of a warning before you start popping out of nowhere?" Dean asked a little louder than he'd intended. He was trying to get his heart rate under control again from the scare. The angel continued to watch him with an expression almost like he was trying to figure something out about Dean. "What?" Dean finally asked. "Normally when you show up you have some kind of news."

"Yes," Castiel replied. "I came here to warn you." Dean's annoyance with the angel abated a bit. "It's Crowley… I just managed to get away before his demons could corner me. He's coming here to-" But Cas was suddenly cut short as he vanished on the spot. Dean blinked, in place of the angel stood the very man who had been seen on the television and Cas had been warning about.

"That's better." Crowley stated eyes on Dean. The door to the motel opened and Sam stepped inside, freezing at the sight of Crowley.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Sam asked abruptly; going to stand by Dean as he spoke.

The demon let out a small puff of laughter, "Hello Moose." Sam shifted and glared upon hearing the name Crowley always called him. "Nice of you to drop by. So! As I'm sure you boys have noticed, I've been getting around quite a bit lately. You should have seen London yesterday. The mess was unbelievable."

"What do you want?" Dean snapped. He wasn't in a very good mood lately and seeing his least favourite person ever and having to hear him go ranting about things, wasn't something Dean wanted to have to do.

Crowley simply gazed at them for a few moments before speaking. "It's not so much what I want but what someone else and I both want." He let this sink in before continuing. "See, you boys have constantly been getting in my way and right now… I need a bit of a breather. I want you two out of the way for a bit."

"Yeah not happening," Dean answered.

"Oh? Really?" Crowley questioned. The brothers stared at him, "I'm afraid it's really not up for you to decide right now. See, I want you gone; but someone else wants you where they are. That's where I come in; I'm going to send you to him. That way we both get what we want. As for you two… Well you'll just have to figure out how to survive on your own I suppose. I've never been there myself, so I don't know."

"Whoa!" Sam put up a hand, "Who's he? And where are you sending us? I'm guessing it's not anywhere good and it definitely won't be the place we'll find happily ever after." He added the last part as a bit of a joke, but at the same time it was half a statement. He and Dean had only ever wanted to live normally and peacefully, but given the life they'd been thrown into; peace wasn't an option.

"Oh Moose… Moosey Moosey Moose... "Crowley stepped forward, "I'm sending you to a place where there are no happily ever afters… Just a place where you have to fight to survive and hope you can get out alive." He stepped back once more, hands in his pockets, and smirked at them. "Ready to go?"

"Wait, what?!" Dean started forward but it was too late. The motel was dissolving in a rapid blur of colour and sound. Everything was spinning and went black until, quite suddenly, the boys fell face first onto the ground. A strange chirping of thousands of bugs met their ears and as they slowly rose to their feet they saw just where it was they'd been sent. They stood in the midst of a dense jungle, the warm and humid air swirled around them, containing sickly sweet smells from the bright flowers here and there.

"Where the hell are we?" Dean asked quietly. Sam shook his head, not knowing the answer at all. Both started when they heard a twig snap nearby and voices growing louder.

"Doctor, are you sure we're going the right way?" A female voice with a Scottish accent asked. Another voice, with a British accent this time, answered very certainly and almost a bit defiantly

"Yes, yes! I'm sure!" Then from out of the bushes came bursting four of the strangest groups the brothers had ever seen. A man in a bowtie, a red-headed girl, a tall man in a dark coat, and a shorter man who looked uncertain. All four froze upon seeing the Winchesters and a truly awkward pause followed.

"How many bloody people are in this jungle anyway?" The girl asked. A question that had clearly been on all their minds. "I suppose we'll come across another group later!" She stated, sounding a bit annoyed, and she was eyeing Dean as though he'd said something highly offensive to her.

"Uh… I'm Sam." Sam said slowly. "This is my older brother Dean."

"Americans." The tall man said quietly, sounding as though he was referring to something slow and unintelligent.

"Hey I know you…" Dean said suddenly, pointing at the man who had just spoken. "You're that Sherlock Holmes guy we saw on T.V." Everyone seemed taken aback by this, all but the detective who remained blank looking.

"Yes I'm Sherlock Holmes. This is my friend John Watson. Those two are Amy and the Doctor," he answered. "Now that we've gotten introductions out of the way, I think we should all explain what happened to each of us. Our stories are somehow connected, otherwise we wouldn't all be here; and maybe… We can find out where exactly we are and who wants us all here in the first place."

It took nearly an hour for them all to tell their stories of how they had gotten to the mysterious jungle, which they had found out (thanks to the Doctor) was actually an island. None of them could figure out what the island was called however and had no idea who might inhabit the area. "We were just off to find the TARDIS," the Doctor explained. "We're sticking together because we don't know what this place is or what might be here besides us."

"Good idea," Sam stated. "I just hope we can find your TARDIS before whoever wanted us here finds us." A forbidding silence fell upon the group of six as they all wondered what disturbing things could possibly live on the island.

"I'd say we should get going," John began, "But the sun's about to rise in any case. At least… It should be about to rise."

"What do you mean?" Amy asked.

John took a deep breath and said slowly, "Well… I don't know if it's just me but I get the feeling… That it's always night here. I'm just guessing, but it's a hunch. There's no such thing as daylight in a place like this…"

"Well now... That's certainly a good guess for someone who's never been here before."


	4. Welcome

Chapter Four: Welcome

Killian Jones was not in a very good mood. In less than twenty-four hours' time he had been interrogated by Felix, had a box full of valuable items taken from his ship, he had been rejected in a tavern, and had been attacked by mermaids. On top of all that he had to obtain a magic bean so he was able to take a portal back to Neverland at the summons of the very person who was in charge of the island.

Felix was one of the Lost Boys of Neverland; he was one of Pan's closest and did most of the dirty work himself since he took great pleasure in tormenting Jones. In Neverland, Killian went by a different name everyone knew him for; Captain Hook. This was due to the fact that he'd had his left hand severed by Rumplestiltskin years previously and had replaced the hand with a deadly silver hook.

Having things stolen from him happened occasionally so that didn't annoy him too much and he did get rejected by women once in a while. A very long while. Getting the magic bean was hard but he'd done it hadn't he? He was back in Neverland at least, but then again he'd arrived only to be attacked by the mermaids. Mermaids are not what you think. Everyone assumes they're women with fish tails, beautiful creatures who often fall in love with sailors and live happily ever after. Not the case with the Neverland mermaids.

The mermaids of Neverland love nothing more than attacking everyone and anyone who dared enter their waters. Of course people who knew Neverland had sense enough to stay out of the water, but those who didn't weren't so fortunate. Killian recalled saving a boy, Baelfire, from the water a long time ago before mermaids could come and rip him to shreds. Had he have known the boy was actually the son of Rumplestiltskin at the time he might not have bothered saving him.

What bothered Hook the most at the current moment was the fact that he had been summoned directly to Neverland. It was very rare that this ever happened because the pirates and the Lost Boys generally stayed clear of each other; pirates on the water, boys on land. If he was being invited onto the shores he knew something major was happening. Either that or he was being lured under false pretenses just so the Lost Boys could have some fun; most likely trying to hunt him down and kill him.

However, Hook didn't dare disobey a direct order from the one who was in charge. Anyone who defied his orders would have the Shadow sent after them to rip the offending person's shadow off their body, killing them slowly and painfully. At the moment Killian really didn't fancy having his shadow taken from him, of course he didn't at regular moments either but he wasn't having a very good day.

"Mr. Smee," He called and his first mate hurried up onto the quarterdeck where his captain stood.

"Yes Cap'n?" He asked somewhat nervously. William Smee was a slightly short rotund man, with a scruffy beard and a floppy red hat on his head. He was only part of the crew because Hook had been courteous enough to spare his life, but not to let him off the ship. He would never admit it, but Smee was terrified of Killian even if it was a respectful terrified he never dreamed of crossing his captain.

"Get a boat ready… I'm going ashore." Hook informed the portly man. Upon hearing this Mr. Smee's eyes went round like coins and he began to stammer out a response, trying not to make it sounds as though he was question his captain's orders.

"Are… Are you sure Cap'n?" He asked. "I-I mean, don't you think that's a bit… Unwise to go in there alone?" But under the look Killian gave him, Mr. Smee's words faltered. "My apologies… I'll have a boat ready…" Then he scurried off to help tie a rowboat to the cables and lower it into the water before flinging a rope ladder of the port side of the Jolly Roger.

Killian stood at the helm of the ship, gazing at the island in silence for a while. It was the place he always avoided going whenever possible, and now it seemed he had to set foot there once again; something no man in their right mind desired. His ocean blue eyes turned up as h glanced quickly at the sun. It may seem like daylight now but once he was on the island it would seem like night forever.

Slowly he made his way onto the main deck before turning to his first mate with final instructions. "Mr. Smee, if I come back and find my ship has so much as one scratch on her that wasn't there before… You can make sure I'll hold you accountable for it. I know this ship like the back of my..." he smiled slightly and gestured at his hook, "Well you know. Don't come looking for me no matter how long I'm gone because this will either take a very long time, I'll be delayed, or it could possibly mean Felix has finally gotten his wish of tearing my heart from my chest." He spoke in a casual tone that would make most people call him insane. If someone could talk about getting their heart ripped out without the merest trace of fear, then there was something wrong with them.

And there were _many_ things wrong with this particular man.

Five minutes later, Hook found himself pulling the rowboat onto the warm sand, turning to face the dense jungle before him. Then taking a deep breath he plunged into the trees without hesitation. The effect was instant. The darkness engulfed him and a sudden hush fell but for the sounds of many bugs and animals around the pirate. He knew generally where he was going though he knew the Lost Boys camp tended to move quite a bit so if they were in no hurry they would most likely mess with him in the sense of changing their location every few minutes.

His feet carried him onwards and eventually he knew he'd have to light the lantern he'd brought with him because it was too dark in this part of the jungle. He led himself past Dead Man's Peak and was just nearing the Echo Caves when he heard voices up ahead. They didn't sound like Lost Boys however, they were too old.

"I'm just guessing, but it's a hunch. There's no such thing as daylight in a place like this…" He saw the speaker was a short man with dirty blond hair. Without bothering to give them a warning of his approach, Hook spoke up.

"Well now... That's certainly a good guess for someone who's never been here before." The group of six people jumped and looked around as he stepped into the clearing. "If you're looking for a place to spend the night I recommend the Hangman's tree. It's a fairly good place to hide and the Lost Boys won't find you there."

"I'm sorry… The lost _what_?" A red haired girl with a Scottish accent asked. Hook's eyes scanned the group, she was the only female out of them but she seemed close to only one man. It appeared the group consisted of pairs who had run into each other and had made the choice to stay together even if they didn't know everyone present.

"The Lost Boys," Killian repeated in a slightly bored tone. "Don't get caught by them. They enjoy killing people slowly and painfully. Of course, they got the idea from me to use small amounts of Dreamshade. It does the job of 'slow and painful' quite nicely." He became aware of the fact that they were all staring at him, some with horrified expressions. "Pirate?" He asked, raising his lantern which dangled from his hook.

"Uh pardon me for asking but, who the hell are you?" A man asked.

"Well I could ask you the same thing." Killian answered. "Tell you what; I'll let you know who I am if you let me know who you are first. And maybe if I'm feeling up to it, I'll help you find a way to avoid the people you don't want to meet here."

"You live here?" the sandy haired man who had spoken earlier asked.

"Live here? You're joking right? No, I sail the seas as a captain of a ship. My crew is currently awaiting my return just out of the island." He replied. "Now, are you going to tell me your names? Or do I have to find out the hard way?"

"I'm the Doctor!" Spoke a man with a bright red bowtie. He waved, "Hello!" Hook didn't smile, just raised an eyebrow at him, clearly unamused. The Doctor gestured to the girl beside him, "This is Amy Pond, my companion. We're Time Travelers and got here when the TARDIS (our space machine) malfunctioned."

Killian had no idea what a space machine was but he got the general idea about time traveling. "John Watson," the sandy haired man stated next. "And my friend Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock was easily the most serious looking one there, Killian thought to himself.

"I'm Sam Winchester," the tallest of the lot said. His hair was nearly down to his shoulders and a dark brown colour. "This is my brother Dean." He pointed to the man who had inquired who Hook was. Dean, likewise, did not smile, just surveyed Killian in silence with a prominent frown.

"Well aren't you just a merry little bunch," Killian said in a mock-cheery voice, smirking slightly. No one responded to that. "Alright then… I myself am Killian Jones, though most people call me by my more famous name. Captain Hook."

"As in what… Like Peter Pan, Captain Hook?" Dean asked with a small snort of laughter. His smile vanished as they all saw Killian's face darken upon hearing Dean's words.

"How do you know that?" he asked in a quiet but deadly tone.

"It's a story," Sherlock Holmes answered. "They made many films after it as well apparently. The most famous of which is quite possibly the Disney movie with the title of 'Peter Pan'."

"Is that so?" Hook asked in the same dark voice. "Well whatever these… films are, I'm fairly certain they don't come anywhere close to the reality."

"You're kidding me right?" Dean asked. "You mean to tell us that we're in fairy land or something? That Peter Pan's real and so are any other fairytale characters and stories?... I'm not buying it."

Killian frowned at him, "I would highly advise you not to laugh about matters you don't know about… Yes, Peter Pan is real, so am I. Where you are right now is quite possibly the most dangerous place in all the realms." He smiled in a devilish manner. "Welcome to Neverland. Pan is the most cunning, dangerous, and evil being you will ever have the misfortune to (possibly) meet."

"Oh I doubt that." Sherlock Holmes cut in. "I'm fairly certain nothing can beat Moriarty's standards." John fidgeted uncomfortably at this.

"Or the Daleks," the Doctor put in.

"How about Crowley?" Sam asked with raised eyebrows at his brother. Dean tilted his head slightly in a 'fair point' kind of way.

Hook rolled his eyes, "You don't get it… Take all those people or things that you know of who are the worst things you can imagine… Picture them ten times worse. Now put them in the body of a teenage boy and you have Pan. He may look like a boy but believe me, he's a bloody demon." Sam and Dean shared raised eyebrows.

"Literally or metaphorically?" They asked in unison.

"Does it matter?" Hook inquired. "He likes to play games with people and I'm pretty sure you've just landed yourself in one as his chess pieces. I know this island better than any (besides Pan and his Boys) and so I'm basically your only chance of getting through here in one piece. Either take my word or don't but I'm warning you now… If you don't take my advice you'll be on your own again and you won't last more than a day…"

Everyone's eyes were upon the pirate again and he knew that even if they didn't like it they were going to have to listen to him. He was beginning to get an idea as to why Pan had invited him onto the island. It was so he could lead this group around trying to figure a way out, but he knew that no one left Neverland without Pan's permission. They were stuck there until Pan decided otherwise. All Killian could do right now was help keep the other six people out of trouble and avoid getting killed.

"So… Will you trust the word of a pirate? Or will you tell me to go on my way and suffer for it?" He asked quietly. They all exchanged glances, unsure of who should answer and what they should say. Sherlock seemed to be having a silent argument with Dean until it appeared Sherlock won and he nodded at Hook.

"For the time being, we're trusting you." Hook laughed and they waited for him to explain what was funny.

"Rule number one; don't trust me it's a poor choice." He took a few steps forward with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Just listen."


	5. The Game

**I'm so sorry for the long wait everyone! I hope this chapter makes up for it and I'm going to try and make my next update soon. I've just been so busy with school, voice lessons, and now rehearsals for Pocahontas. Thank you so much for your patience and dedication. Enjoy.**

Chapter Five: The Game

The rest of the group couldn't take comfort in Hook's words; however he was their only chance of surviving and possibly getting out of the horrible jungle. As they walked Hook explained all about Neverland and its inhabitants, telling them the most important things first. Some of the things he mentioned came up along the way, locations, plants, and such. The first real shock came when Dean went to push a plant out of his way, not noticing the black thorns running down the stems. In fact that was all the plant seemed to be made of, dark green stems with black thorns all over them.

As Dean reached forward he was stopped suddenly as Hook grabbed his arm and jerked it back a little in a frantic manner. "Whoa!" Dean put up his hands, frowning at the pirate, but Hook had his eyes on the plant. "Why'd you do that?"

"Because one scratch from that plant and you'd have been dead in a week." Killian replied with a small snap to his tone. A tiny pause followed this statement and he turned his eyes back to the plant with an expression of dislike. "It's called Dreamshade… The most deadly poison you will ever find known to man. Sort of… It only lives in Neverland. The point is, you see the black liquid?"

As they all peered at the plant in the darkness they became suddenly aware of the fact that a black substance much like water was indeed dripping steadily from each thorn. "That's the poison. Even the tiniest cuts from that… And you're a goner. Consider yourself lucky," he looked at Dean, "That none of you have touched it and that I stopped you mate."

"But isn't there some kind of cure?" John asked curiously. "I'm a doctor so I feel better knowing these things. I seem to remember learning that if given the proper treatment you can cure almost any poison."

"Oh there's a cure alright," Hook nodded with raised eyebrows.

"Then… Is it just really hard to come by?" John pressed. "You mentioned having a week to live, so wouldn't it be possible to find the antidote and take it before it's too late?" Sherlock was giving John a most curious look, as though he was thinking hard about something upon hearing the latter's words.

Killian smiled grimly, "You have a week at most. Really it depends upon where the poison is distributed. As for the cure… I'm not so certain any of you would be willing to pay the price of taking it." A few of them muttered while the others looked more curious still (except Sherlock who remained indifferent). "There's a waterfall up on Dead Man's Peak, the water is enchanted with the very magic that keeps Neverland young forever. If one were to drink from the falls they would instantly be cured of any illness as though it had never happened before."

"Well what's so bad about that?" Amy cut in abruptly. She hadn't spoken much since they had started the journey through the island. Perhaps it was the presence of so many men and no other women, or perhaps she was just silently judging them all on how farfetched they could possibly get.

"Once you drink the water the magic can only work while you stay on the island. As soon as you leave, put even one toe across the border, you're finished. The poison comes back into play and you'll eventually die, very slowly and painfully I might add." Hook finished darkly. He had an almost unfocused look, like a man lost in memory.

"Oookay, who have you used it on?" Amy asked, detecting the reason behind the darkness of his words. Hook seemed to come out of a trance and gazed at her with a blank look. "I asked who you've used it on."

Here a slow smile, that seemed somehow pained, came onto his face, "A few… But it's only ever really taken effect and worked on one person…" His false smile vanished quite suddenly and his eyes stared at the base of a tree so as to avoid looking at any of them. "One of Pan's men... Went by the name of Rufio." He looked up once more to see them all staring at him with mixed horror and curiosity.

Amy shook her head, "You used it on a kid?"

Hook scowled, "He was no more a kid than you or I. He was a reckless monster who was Pan's personal favourite. When I killed Rufio I made sure it was going to be slow and that they wouldn't be able to find him in time to cure him. He died in the Echo Caves which is the reason they say your darkest secret will be your downfall in there, because his very death was a secret. Rufio's the only Lost Boy I've ever managed to kill, in case you're wondering. The rest of the demonic beasts are still out there."

Amy looked about ready to retort angrily but Sam intervened before she could, "Let's just… Move on, alright?"

"Aye… Let's."

The group had been traveling for three days now and already Sherlock was having his tenth argument with the Doctor. "You can't travel through time and space and change the course of history!" Sherlock was saying as he and the Doctor walked together in the back of the group. The others had given up on trying to make them get along as it was clear they wouldn't. "That would be insane!"

"But you wouldn't know that," the Doctor reasoned. "As soon as it changes so does everyone's memory of those events! It's not like I go back and create permanent holes in the fabric of time, or disrupt the course of events. Besides! You don't even know what time travel is like because you have never done it, have you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I find nothing interesting in going about through history and reshaping the way things are meant to go! It's messing with science and as you should know, Doctor, one does not simply tamper with things they've never done before. That would be like handing a nuclear bomb to a child and telling it to have fun and play!"

"Is he always like this?" Amy and John asked each other wearily at the same time. They looked at each other and grinned but before they could say anything else Sam had fell into step beside Amy and began talking.

"So… Amy Pond huh?" Amy nodded and a smile flickered on Sam's lips. "Cute name…" He spotted Amy's expression and he hastened to continue. "It's just I knew someone whose name was the exact same thing… Amy Pond. 'Course she was very different from you. Blonde for one thing, American for another. Not to mention she was a… uh…" He cleared his throat nervously, "A monster."

Amy was starting to get used to Sam and Dean talking about all kinds of monsters they had hunted. It wasn't anything close to her accounted with the Doctor and their travels through time and space, but the stories were still interesting to listen to. "Literally?" Sam nodded silently and she guessed everything from his expression. "I'm sorry… She was a friend I suppose?" Sam turned his gaze to her, stunned.

"Yeah… How'd you-?"

She smiled slyly, "I'm Scottish." Though that really had nothing to do with it, she then gave a small wink and turned back to her conversation with John. Meanwhile at the head of the group, Dean and Hook were talking about a very different subject than anyone else. Dean still wanted to know more about Neverland so Hook was explaining.

"You said they cry at night…" Dean spoke slowly with a frown. "How come we haven't heard anything?"

Hook gave a small snort, "Call yourself lucky yet again that you can't hear it. Every night when you'd think to go to sleep, the Lost Boys begin to cry. For all sorts of things really, mainly they cry for their mothers. The only people who can hear them are the ones who feel like the outcasts, rejected, left out, such and such."

Unnoticed by either of them, Sam shifted nervously on his feet. What Hook had said just then unnerved him. If it was true… But it couldn't be, and yet Hook knew more about the place than any of them so Sam figured he could believe his word. This was no comfort though because ever since they had arrived and made camp, when the others fell asleep, he heard the sounds of many crying boys for hours on end, preventing him from falling asleep. He couldn't explain why though.

"What do you think Sammy?" Sam blinked, realizing he had been thinking much longer than he thought. He had been so deep in thought that he hadn't even noticed where they were going and was startled for a moment to see the others getting ready to spend the night.

He shook his head slightly, "What?" Dean was looking at him with a frown, Sherlock was also frowning at him but it was more like he was pondering something about Sam. Hook looked like he was trying not to laugh, his eyebrows were raised and his lips were pressed tightly together. The Doctor and Amy seemed to be having a half argument away from the group and John was standing close to Sherlock, examining the surroundings with a worried expression.

"You didn't take in any of that did you?" Dean asked and Sam shook his head. Dean rolled his eyes and turned away muttering, "Never mind..."

Hook sighed, "Right, I suggest everyone at least try and sleep. There's no point in you staying alive if you aren't going to rest." No one argued but paired off depending on who they had arrived with. Despite his words, Hook himself didn't go to sleep. He knew it was suicidal not to have at least one person on watch at all times, lest the Lost Boys or something worse were to turn up.

An hour went slowly by. An hour and a half... Two hours... He was starting to wonder when they should set out again when something happened. "Oh I'm sorry... Not crashing the slumber party am I?"

Hook leapt to his feet and spun around, drawing his sword as he did so. A boy of around eighteen was leaning casually against a tree, as though seeing a group of adults sleeping in jungles was something he did often. His hair was sandy blonde and his eyes sparkled mischievously despite the lack of light; they looked black in the darkness the night brought.

The boy was wearing a thick dark green shirt that made him almost blend in with the trees. He raised his eyebrows and put up his hands, even though Killian had slowly lowered the blade he held. "Don't worry. I'm not here to cause your party any trouble. Well... Not yet at least." He grinned, but Hook didn't return the gesture.

"What do you want?" He asked directly. There was no beating around the bush, he knew exactly who this boy was and that he had only bothered to show up because he wanted something from them.

"Always in a rush aren't you Killian?" He asked. When the latter did not reply he continued, "I merely came to welcome your friends to Neverland, and to tell you about the game."

"What game?" Hook asked sharply, though he knew the answer long before it was given. This boy was always playing games... Though not the kind any human being would want to.

The boy laughed, "You're in it." The silence stretched for several uncomfortable moments until he spoke once more. "Here's the object... You want to leave the island yes? Well, the only way you can do that is to show me... Enemies and companions alike can work together."

Hook made a face, "What the devil does that mean?"

"Well I can't tell you can I?" The boy asked, clearly amused. "It's for you to figure out." He started to turn away but then said, "Oh, and if be prepared for something bad to happen every time one of you tries to leave without following the rules."

Hook was about to inquire further but the moment he blinked, the boy had vanished... When the others awoke some hours later he related the message to them. "But..." John was at a loss, "You said he would try to play a game with us, but... How did you find out what we have to do? I mean, who told you?" He asked. Hook smiled but there was no humor or happiness in it, something the others were quick to notice.

"Why, Peter Pan of course."


	6. Lost Boys

**I apologize ahead of time for this being a very short chapter but I hope that you enjoy it. Once again thank you for your patience and followings! All reviews are appreciated.**

Chapter Six: Lost Boys

The news that Peter Pan himself had already decided the way things were going to go and had personally made sure they were going to follow rules, had not been taken lightly to heart by the group. As they tromped steadily through the thick trees, trying to find a way out of the seemingly endless jungle, their tempers started to get the better of them. Sherlock and the Doctor were now arguing on a daily basis about this and that, trying to determine who was clever than the other.

Sam and Dean seemed to be having quiet arguments as well, but they tried their best not to make this very known amongst the group. Hook was used to complaining from his crew so he learned to tune out anything he didn't want to hear and simply plowed on while the others followed in his wake. Only Amy and John seemed to get along well out of any of them. Of course had the others have tried they might have gotten along too.

The first real test of Pan's so called game had arrived around what would be midday on the seventh day they were in Neverland. It had only been seven days in reality but time does not pass on that island, therefore it seemed more like seven years to everyone who wasn't used to the times yet. "So what is this Pan guy really trying to do?" Dean asked Hook. This question stopped all arguments as everyone was very curious to know themselves, even if they didn't show it.

Hook sighed; he had hoped they would never reach this question, "Kill us all one by one." When he only received stunned silence he added, "That's what I would do. And don't go any further to your left mate." He added to Dean.

"Why?" Dean inquired.

Again, Hook let out a sigh, "Because you'll fall a thousand feet to your death. The only thing on the other side of those trees and bushes is a sheer drop off, not even a cliff. So unless you wish to die (which I don't think any of us do) I suggest you follow my advice." Dean looked slightly annoyed by this statement, but nonetheless had moved over to the right considerably since Hook had spoken.

They continued walking for nearly an hour until Hook flung out his right arm, catching John hard in the chest ("Oof!" He said.) "Hold it!" He slowly took a few steps forward before stopping abruptly again and cursing quietly. "Oh for the love of…" But whatever he had been about to say they never found out. For at that precise moment around twenty people surrounded them. Twenty people who looked to be no older than eighteen.

"Well, well! Evening Captain." A jeering drawling voice called. One boy alone stepped forward to show bits of dirty blonde hair hanging around a long pale face under a dark green hood where his eyes glittered malevolently. His face also bore a long scar across his right cheek.

Hook spoke in a light and casual way but it could not be clearer the two of them absolutely despised each other's very existence. "Felix! How goes it? I see you and the lads are doing well, even when you're down by… one." Amy got the feeling he was talking about the boy called Rufio whom he had killed and didn't think it was a good idea to taunt these boys. They didn't look like the kind of people to mess with at all, even to her which was rare in itself since she was always messing with everyone.

"It's been a while," Felix commented and there was a hint of darkness in his voice even though he too sounded cheerful and absolutely positive.

Hook smiled wryly, "Not long enough I daresay." Felix took another few slow steps closer to the group, adjusting the sword resting on his shoulder as he did so. As he got nearer Amy thought his appearance was quite alarming. How had a boy, a young boy, become so malevolent and downright frightening?

Felix's eyes swept over them, "Oh! So this is the group Pan told me about!" He exclaimed in mirthless amusement. "A group of wandering lost adults. I don't understand what he sees in any of you but…" He sighed, "He has his reasons."

"You mean he hasn't confided his entire plan to you?" Hook asked with raised eyebrows, sounding politely shocked. "Why Felix, could it be that your beloved leader doesn't trust you as much as you make it out to be?" Felix's scowl was becoming more prominent with each word Hook spoke. "Maybe, he doesn't like you anymore. Maybe you're nothing more than a lapdog sent to do his master's dirty work."

At that moment Felix's anger must have reached its limit. His sword swung down and with a loud crash it collided with Killian's hook. "Go! Go!" Hook called over his shoulder and the others didn't need telling twice. They ran through the trees, not looking back just sprinting ahead and trying to keep the person in front of them in sight. Finally they came to a halt in a clear area after what felt like hours of running.

The Doctor came to a halt with his hands clasped together and a grin on his face, "Love the running!" He said joyfully. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the strange man but decided not to comment since he didn't want to start another argument. Amy stood hunched over with her hands on her knees, gasping for air while Sam and Dean stood opposite, breathing heavily but looking altogether fine.

Hook came walking through the trees a moment later as though they hadn't just been running for their lives, but had simply been taking a stroll through the jungle. "Everyone here? Alright love?" He asked Amy who had straightened up and was glaring at him like her life depended on it.

"Why," she asked, "Did you provoke him?!"

Hook rolled his eyes, "Because those were the Lost Boys and I always provoke them. We live to make each other's lives hell. That back there," he jerked his thumb behind him, "Was me having a bit of fun with dear old Felix. He's been wanting to destroy me more than ever since I killed Rufio."

"I wonder why," Dean muttered but only Sam heard him. The six of them stood in silence for a moment; none of them seemed to want to speak. There was a certain tension in which they all knew something was wrong, something was completely wrong but they hadn't noticed it yet until Amy spoke.

"Hang on… There… There were seven of us weren't there?" Her voice quavered slightly as she surveyed the group. "Someone's missing!" They all felt as though weights had dropped into their stomachs, but none felt the mounting dread and fear so much as the detective Sherlock Holmes.

"John."


End file.
